Me, him and Him

I had won the grand prize: a weekend at one of the most beautiful hotels in the world. All I had done was fill out a little “enter the sweepstakes” card at a garden show. When I arrived at the “property”, I was greeted with a bottle of Perrier water. The man who handed it to me in the lobby had on white gloves. It occurred to me that the Super 8 Chain should copy- cat this inexpensive, elegant idea. A Lamborghini sat in the grand, circular entry way; its wings open as it emptied itself of its coiffed driver.

The view from the top of Dove Mountain near Tucson was stunning, other worldly. The grounds were extraordinary in that the Ritz Carlton had built a golf course, not only on a chunk of mountain rock, but also in the high desert. In addition to the Perrier, forty- foot saguaro cacti greeted me on this March morning. An orange grove and a glimmering swimming pool/hot tube combination were also jammed into the dry, spiky terrain. Vibrant green leaved trees, heavy with oranges, had been strategically planted to enhance a guest’s morning walks. Rotting oranges lay everywhere: unnecessary fruit.

The room was outstanding: gigantic, airy, artful. Looking around at the many amenities, I realized how much wealthy people like the ability, or maybe the authority, to control every single light in their hotel room. Does one like bright light to pluck eyebrows by or is the guest’s preference a subdued, soft glow while taking a relaxing shower? And, the shower! There was a huge, overhead rainfall thing, and two more- on the wall - shower heads, in addition to several turn on and turn off handles. I needed to get hot tub sustenance before tackling that device.

My navy-blue Target one-piece swimsuit was quite suitable for a fifty year old woman who was going hot tubbing. As I entered the pool area, I noticed there were only a few people there. Most guests seemed to be at an extravagant lawn luncheon for a company gathering.

The “cabana boy”, nametag – Rajit, greeted me pleasantly and asked if I wanted some free Perrier. (Super 8, listen up!). I took some and thanked him. He asked about my day – fine, thank you – and yours?

My day always good! he said in broken English. And he gestured grandly at the sun-drenched panorama, clearly proud to be working there.

 Where is the restroom so I can change into my suit, please?

As he began walking me there, another male employee, a sharply dressed manager type, stepped assertively between us and walked me to the changing area.

This way, madam.  

Rajit melted away.

When I came out of the cavernous dressing area, Rajit offered me a soft towel, and although he had on the standard cabana boy (he was actually an older man) black shirt/pants, I noticed his flip flops were inexpensive and falling apart. He was a bit pudgy but had spent time on his thick black hair, making sure it was groomed for his guests. As I stood looking over the set up, he told me that there were two pools, in fact. The one I was staring at had a slide that plunged through the stern red rock and exited out into another crystal-clear pool on a lower level.

Try this! he said pointing to and smiling at the slide.

I thought that would be fun and told him so. First, however, I wanted that luxurious hot tub. The only people at the pool were myself and a couple sitting on lounge chairs near the hot tub. The man was in his 50s, good looking, manicured hair, large expensive watch, dark swim trunks, and he was talking on his phone in an irritated way, as if being forced to deal with his teenage son. Next to him was a woman about thirty years old in a red bikini. She was also preoccupied with her phone, but when he got off his phone and spoke to her, she perked up and paid sharp attention, including a little neck massage for him.

I watched them lazily, while I found the right water jet for my back, when I noticed a bee near me floating in the water, struggling to stay alive. I began to scoop out handfuls of water trying to catch him in my hands, tossing the water to the side. After doing this unsuccessfully a few times, Rajit came to the edge of the hot tub.

You need something, maam?

 I laughed at how silly I looked tossing handfuls of water out of the tub onto the patio.

This bee is drowning, and I want to help him, I said.

Rajit bent down to look at the bee and ran quickly but awkwardly to his small cabana station to get a plastic cup. When he hurried back, I watched him trip a little on his flip flops. I had positioned myself near the bee.

As Rajit knelt with his cup, the man on the lounge chair stood up and quickly walked over to the hot tub. He confidently stepped between me and Rajit, and in one assured scoop got the limp insect in his hands, set him on the side of the hot tub and walked back to his lounger.

Good God! It will take you all day to get one damn bee out of the hot tub, the man shouted at Rajit, who was still kneeling at the side of the hot tub, head down, looking at the water.

I knew the man wanted to make sure that I noticed his competent handling of the situation. Decorative but unneeded, like the orange groves, I thought.

Rajit, stone quiet, stood up with difficulty, as if being on his knees was hard on him.

We looked at each other with tenderness and without saying anything went back to our own worlds: he to his station of striped towels and green bottles of Perrier. As I settled back into the tub, the man and I caught each others' eyes. He ever so slightly gestured to me with a look of subtle disdain followed by a short, tight nod toward Rajit. I quickly closed my eyes and sank up to my neck.

I wanted to get the hot tub water off me. It felt scummy now, and I went back to the room to take a shower. But I couldn’t get the temperature right with all of those knobs. It kept fluctuating. Mostly it was too cold.